


Count on me

by BrightDream



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brienne and Pod being BFFs, Brienne deserves a hug, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Post 8.04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 03:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightDream/pseuds/BrightDream
Summary: “I’m pregnant,” she chokes out.Podrick nods. He looks oddly calm and not surprised at all about this fact.“It’ll be alright, ser. I promise you.”'Post 8.04; explores Pod/Brienne friendship and also quite a lot of Jaime/Brienne.





	Count on me

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wanted to explore a little bit of Brienne and Pod's friendship, as I really enjoy Podrick's character in the series and I've quite liked their interaction during this season so far. There wasn't that much dialogue between them, but I feel we can really see how close they are only by the looks they share.
> 
> I'm actually not very satisfied with this fic (for reasons I can't really point out; pacing perhaps?) but it's been so frustating working on it for days and days and not quite liking it, that I thought I should just post it to get it out of my system. Thoughts and comments are always appreciated.

Her moonblood is five days late when he leaves her.

She doesn’t realize it until two days later, when she accidentally spots the piece of cloth that she uses to absorb the bleeding. It is in the corner of the drawer where she keeps her two extra shirts, forgotten, and Brienne feels dizzy and hot and cold and breathless, all at once.

She sits down heavily on the bed, counts the days in her fingers. Her moonblood usually arrives precisely when it’s supposed to, not early nor late. She tries to slow down her breathing; counts again. One more time. A fourth time; because surely there’s so mistake, she can’t be…-

Perhaps it is only because of the burden of these last few days, she reasons to herself. She knows that the cycles can be disrupted by moments of great physical or mental pressure; remembers that she had bled three days early when Renly had been killed.

_But you were already late when everything was fine,_ a voice whispers inside her head _. You weren’t under any hardship a week ago, when Jaime was by your side._

She refuses to dwell on it. The thought is impossible; unbearable.

Brienne changes her shirt and goes after Podrick in the courtyard. She is shaky when she asks him to spar with her, and her movements are sloppy and unprecise. She beats him with difficulty, and it is absurd.

Pod doesn’t comment on it; pretends nothing is out of place.

"Would you like to go another round, my lady?", he asks, but when she shakes her head, he smiles, trying to hide the concern from his eyes, and doesn’t say another word.

 

 

She must look awful the next day, judging by the way Pod looks at her. She has slept next to nothing, too busy tossing and turning in the mattress. Ever since Jaime left, Brienne has been plagued with insomnia, but last night managed to be even worse than the first two.

Pod gets her a portion and asks her to eat, and the only reason she doesn’t refuse is because she is too tired to argue. Her appetite is not as it was, and even though she knows she shouldn’t be doing this, she has eaten very little in the last three days.

_(She remembers a fire somewhere in the Riverlands, remembers calling him a coward. She feels like a hypocrite, but at the same time thinks she knew nothing of suffering back then; didn’t know how it felt to be held and to be loved and to share a life with someone; didn’t know how it felt to lose that someone.)_

Brienne has not eaten even a quarter of her portion when the nausea starts, a rolling wave deep in her stomach. She hesitates with the spoon in the air, trying to control it, but it crashes down over her with a strength she never knew before. The spoon clatters to the ground as she runs from the great hall to vomit.

It feels like she retches for a long time, even though she has eaten so little. She feels the awful taste of bile in her mouth, feels her stomach spasming violently. When it finally ends, she feels weak and sweaty and it’s good that Podrick has followed her and is helping to support a little of her weight or else she might fall.

“Ser, let me call the maester,” he asks her. “Please, my lady; you are not well!”

Brienne tries to protest, but in the end, there’s nothing she can do. Some knights from the Vale approach them, worried, and Podrick explains that Brienne is sick and needing Maester Wolkan.

"I'll go after him," one of them offers, and Brienne is helpless to stop him.

 

 

Maester Wolkan is a somber man, quiet and reasonable. Brienne is familiar with him from all the times Lady Sansa has required his assistance and hasn’t find a reason to dislike him so far. He comes to visit her in her chambers. He begins by asking for Podrick to wait outside (for what she is grateful) and then starts asking her about her sickness; about other symptoms she might have.  Has this happened before in the last few weeks? Is she feeling anything else? Does she have a fever? Does she have diarrhea?

 Brienne denies everything diligently, fiddling with her shirt’s sleeve. He asks him what feels like a hundred more questions before he stops, considering her.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me, my lady?”

“No,” she says promptly, as an instinct, but then thinks again, and says, very quietly: “My moonblood is late.”

For what it’s worth, it doesn’t seem like Wolkan judges her for it. He asks her how late she is, asks about her cycles, asks how frequently she has been having sexual intercourse (she blushes hotly before admitting that almost daily in the last five weeks). He asks if she has noticed anything different in her body and requests to check for himself. He examines her and before he is done, Brienne can already see the answer, plain in his face.

“It is very likely that you are with child, my lady.”

She doesn’t want to believe it.

“Maester…” Brienne hesitates, blushing again. “He would usually spend himself…. Well, _outside_. We took _precautions,_ how could it-”

“Sometimes the womb can quicken even without ejaculation.” She thinks she recognizes pity in the Wolkan’s eyes. “It is less likely, but possible, yes. You are young and probably very fertile; having intercourse as frequently as you mentioned, the odds of a pregnancy are high.”

She hates him for it. Hates herself. They had been so careful, or so she had thought. _Jaime_ had been careful, had explained to her that he didn’t wish to get her with child while the war wasn’t done, while they were so far away from her home. He hadn’t said it, but it had hung in the air, that one day he _would_ wish to get her with child, that one day he would go to Tarth, and would meet her father, and would give him the heir he so badly wanted.

Brienne had never actually considered motherhood before that night. She had decided she would not marry many years ago, so there hadn’t been a reason to consider it. But it had been impossible not to think about after those unsaid words, impossible not to imagine a little blonde girl giving her first steps or learning how to wield a sword or running after her father. Brienne didn’t think she would be a good mother, but she could learn. She hadn’t thought she would be a good lover as well, a _woman_ in every sense of the word, but she _was_ learning. He was happy and she was happy and one day they might even marry. Or so she had foolishly believed.

She thanks Maester Wolkan and flees the room and its stifling memories. She cannot believe this is happening; cannot believe the Gods would be so unjust.

She moves past Pod waiting for her outside, feels the world spinning. It feels like she will be sick again, like she will lose her mind and never be herself again. She wants to curse, and to scream, and to kill someone, _him,_ Cersei, both of them. She starts to cry, and she is still crying when Pod finds her on the battlements half an hour later.

“I’m pregnant,” she chokes out.

Podrick nods. He looks oddly calm and not surprised at all about this fact.

“It’ll be alright, ser. I promise you.”

They have never been physically close, but in that moment that is not an issue. She hugs him, and he hugs her back, and she cries as he makes soothing noises in the back of his throat and runs his hands up and down her shoulders, again and again.

 

 

Afterwards, a long time later, when the tears have dried and she feels more like herself again, they separate. He settles next to her, meets her eyes.

“What will we do?”

She exhales.

“You don’t have to do anything, Podrick. Truly.”

 “But I’m your squire.” He looks puzzled. “I’ll be by your side, whatever you choose.”

Despite her misery, Brienne can’t help a small smile.

“I could knight you, you know. You are ready and certainly earned it after the battle. Besides…” She trails off, saddened. “I don’t expect I’ll be much of a knight with a baby in my belly.”

Pod shakes his head fiercely.

 “You are wrong, ser. _To be brave and to be just and to protect the innocent_ ,” he recites. “I’ll expect you to be an even better knight as a mother.”

It moves her somewhat, to hear him say it. _A mother_. That’s what she is going to be. That’s what she is.

“I just meant… I don’t think I’ll be able to fight very well in the next few months, nor practice with you.”

“Then it’s good I’m all done and ready. I can protect both of us.”

Brienne rolls her eyes, and it makes him chuckle. She follows and they share the moment together, but then she halts, wanting to explain herself but not knowing how. She knows he is grateful to her, but she doesn’t want him to tie himself to her. Doesn’t want to be selfish.

Podrick is young and enthusiastic and the world is entirely his for taking. She wants him to travel around, to meet new places, new people. She wants him to make a name for himself as a knight and as a person, to make a difference, to be happy. He has no obligation to stay with her, just because of a sense of duty. Just because she doesn’t have anybody else.

He must see her struggling with her thoughts, because he catches her hand in his, takes a step in her direction.

“I mean it. My lady, I … _Brienne,”_ her name sounds awkward in his mouth, but he tries it anyway. “You are like family to me; the only family I have. Even if you knight me, I do not wish to leave. In a few years perhaps, but for now I want to stay.” He sounds so earnest when he says it that she can’t help believing him. “I want to help you. To get to know your baby. I know you’re an only child, so I could be their fun uncle. I could…-” He interrupts himself when he sees the tears in her eyes. “I don’t think I’ll be such an awful uncle that you have to cry about it.”

Brienne smiles, pushes him away forcefully. “Shut up.”

Pod waits for her to get her emotions back in check, grinning.

“Fine,” she relents. “You can stay.”

They remain in comfortable silent for a few minutes after that. When he speaks again, the grin has left his face.

“My lady…” he begins hesitantly. “I hate to ask you but… Is there still a chance for you and Ser?”

Brienne feels the dread in the pit of her stomach. She knows it’s only natural that Podrick would ask, as he and Jaime had been close as well. She hasn’t given him any explanation so far, had simply told him that Ser Jaime was gone.

“No.” She swallows down heavily. “I…I don’t think so, Pod.”

She has not talked about it with anyone yet; has not said it out loud, outside the confines of her head. Lady Sansa had asked, but Brienne had refused to say anything more than she had told Podrick. She didn’t want to say anything that might make Jaime look bad in her lady’s eyes, had hoped against all odds that if he survived, if he came back, he would still have a chance of staying at Winterfell.

“He went back for her,” her voice is quiet and shaky. “ _To_ her. Cersei.”

“To _be_ with her?” Podrick sounds almost as disappointed as she feels. “Romantically?”

“I… I don’t know.” Even now, after days thinking about it, Brienne is still not sure. She knows he loves Cersei still, knows he’s addicted to her, but she also knows _him._ Knows how morally _good_ he is, how he feels repulsed by everything Cersei represents. “Perhaps not.”

Pod doesn’t press. She appreciates this; appreciates all he has been doing these last few days. Brienne feels a sudden urge to tell him all; to tell him what she thinks she has pieced together about the situation.

“I guess he feels… Unworthy,” she begins, “that he has moved on, that he is going to live when she’s not.” As she says it, Brienne immediately knows it’s true; feels the weight of the certainty deep in her chest. She _knows_ him, she _does._ “I think he… He wants to end her but also die with her, Pod. To die together as they were born together.” The words feel heavy in her mouth, but it is liberating to say them. To let them out, to hear herself and take it all in another light. “Is this romantic, you would say? The most romantic act one could do?  Or is this just the utmost penitence for his conscience, for his honor? Because he _has_ a conscience, because he _is_ honorable?”

Podrick shrugs.

“It just sounds like plain stupidity to me.”

It makes her laugh, a shrill sound, but that helps pushing away the pain that threatens to swallow her.

“Perhaps you are right, “she sighs. “What matter is, I couldn’t talk him out of it. I couldn’t save him.”

“It is _not_ your fault.” Pod replies fiercely. “You can’t save everyone, my lady. Not from themselves at least.”

He’s right of course. It still pains her, though, that she hadn’t been enough to make him stay. If only she had known she was with child before…

Jaime _wants_ to be a father.  She knows this without any shadow of doubt; has seen it in his eyes, the regret, the _yearning._

They had started that conversation tucked in bed one night, talking about Ser Artur Dayne. That had somehow brought up Rhaenys Targaryen and stories about her running around the Red Keep with her cat Balerion, climbing trees and sometimes even the Iron throne. Her grandfather had never liked her, but she had liked Jaime, the youngest knight in the Kingsguard and the only one that would indulge her in her games in the courtyard. He had lost her, though, in the day the city had fallen; had lost her to the hands of his father’s man, and she had been brought to the throne room bloody and wrapped in Lannister’s crimson.

That somehow had led to the story about another girl he had lost. She had been lost for him ever since moment she had been born (and he had not touched Cersei’s name, but it had been there between them anyway) and she had been lost again just when he thought he had got her back. Brienne had never met Myrcella, but she could picture her by his words: beautiful like Cersei but loyal like him, and sweet, so sweet. She had told him she knew he was her father, had told him she _liked_ that, but that had been mere moments before her death. He had never got the chance to actually be a father to her, and that tore at him, _crushed_ him.

“Gods, I was _so_ stupid,” Brienne huffs.

“About?”

“My moonblood is a week behind, but I didn’t realize it until it was too late. If I had realized before he left…”

“Would it make a difference?” Podrick encourages. “Because if so, ser, we must go after him.”

She stares resolutely at her hands, considers the facts. Pictures herself going after Jaime, finding him on the Kingsroad or perhaps outside King’s Landing _._ She would kiss him, and he would hold her, and she would tell him, _you are going to be a father,_ and he would grin and maybe cry a little.

“I… It might.” Brienne admits. “But what if it doesn’t?”

There’s another scenario in her head, the scenario in which he holds her, but only to let her go again. The scenario in which he grins, but then says, _I really wish I could stay, but it doesn’t change the fact that I must go to Cersei._

The uncertainty of it overwhelms her; leaves her equal parts excited and terrified.

 “If going after him was not an option, what would you do?” Pod asks.

 “Go back to Tarth, I suppose. My father has always wanted grandchildren.” Brienne shrugs. “It won’t be the heir he wanted, but I’m sure he will love them anyway."

“Perhaps Queen Daenerys will legitimize your baby after the war is won,” he points out. “If Lady Sansa requested of her, she wouldn’t refuse, I think.”

Brienne agrees with him. That’s quite likely, as bastards are being raised to lords easily these days. After the war, Queen Daenerys will need to solidify their alliances and Lady Sansa and Tarth are important pieces in this game.

“Or maybe she won’t have to legitimize anything, as the baby will already be your heir.” Podrick looks at her meaningfully. “Your and your lord husband’s.”

Brienne takes a deep breath; allows the idea to expand, to grow roots.

She and Jaime living together in Tarth, raising their child together. Her father, by their side, spoiling his grandson or granddaughter despite Brienne’s protests. Podrick, older and with his own wife and kids, coming to visit them every now and then.  Jaime not as the golden knight, but older and silver, his spotted hand intertwined with hers.

She wants it so much, oh, she _craves_ it. She would give anything to make it happen, and she doesn’t really realize she has said the last sentence out loud until Pod smiles at her.

“There is no doubt then,” he says. “We must go after him. We must at least try.”

Brienne feels in the edge of something huge; breathes in and breathes out. 

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’ll go to Tarth and stick to the original plan.”

Slowly, she acknowlodges the idea.

She’ll need to talk to Lady Sansa. She’ll need to get her things ready. She’ll need to go back to eating and behaving like someone who hasn’t given up. Like someone who is going to try.

Brienne reaches for Podrick’s hand, grips it tightly. Right now, she needs his comfort; needs his strength.  Needs his friendship.

“All right,” she says softly.

He beams at her.

“It will be okay, my lady” he promises. “Whatever it happens, you can count on me.”

Brienne nods.

She believes him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.


End file.
